January 29, 2008

Sell Me Your Line of Bull

Red Bluff is a 30-minute car trip up I-5 -- 40 minutes if Dad is driving, and he was driving on Saturday. I was squished into the back seat between two booster seats, not wearing a seat belt because we couldn't FIND it. Smedley and Sparky filled the booster seats; Mom rode shotgun.

AM I INSANE?

Probably.

But I did what I swore I'd never do again, and I went to the Red Bluff Bull Sale* WITH MY FATHER and two short people. Mom provided the sanity.

Now, don't misunderstand me: I was happy to go to the bull sale. It's the finest bull sale west of the Rockies, I'm told, and I don't doubt it. The animals appeared to be top-notch (although I'm perhaps the last one on Earth to judge that, so don't listen to me). I'm not really in the market for a bull, so I was just rubber-necking. You know, soaking up the local color, learning a bit about bulls, and admiring a cowboy or two. Well, a rancher or two.

I developed a teeny crush on the auctioneer.

No, the reason I swore I'd never go to another auction with my dad again is that he has a way of stretching what should be a one-hour experience into a half-day extravaganza. He knows a lot of people in this part of the world, and a few from out of state who he's cornered talked to at past auctions. Any one of those people could have been marked as his target; he'd start asking them questions you hear only on "Jeopardy," and then we'd never ever ever see home again. Mom and the girls and I would die of exposure, or boredom, or acute systems failure at the Tehama County Fairgrounds. But there I was, and there we were, and we had all ridden together -- on purpose -- in my parents' car. I'll take that dope slap now, please.

I wanted to take pictures for y'all, but I didn't. It was a gray and muddy day outside, so that was no good. Inside the auction itself I was guessing I might get thrown out on my rear for using a flash, and I'd rather not be any more of a spectacle than I already was. Plus, those bulls were a bit riled up, and I didn't want to be the one to send them over the top with my camera flash.

So we watched the auction for a while. Have you ever been to a cattle auction -- anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Okay, so I didn't bring a tape recorder either. Here's what it kind of sounds like, sort of:

Okay, I made up some of that, but you get the idea. That guy could TALK! I feel suddenly very sorry for his wife in an argument. My teeny crush is waning now that I think about it.

Smedley made a big show of putting her hands up over her ears during the auction. This caught my attention for two reasons. First, I really didn't need to take a bull home this weekend, so I told her to put her hands in her lap and try not to move too much, fer cryin' out loud in a bucket. Second, who is she trying to kid? She's gonna have his job some day. That child could outtalk that auctioneer and all of his auctioneer friends any day of the week.

Other than the beautiful bulls, the high-tech squeeze chutes (I'll let you look that one up) and the corn dogs, the most interesting sight of the day was a tiny perky blond woman in low-rise jeans taping a television segment, probably for the RFD network (which I call The Cow Show). She had apparently wiped out Walgreen's pancake makeup and brick red lipstick supply that morning in preparation for the shoot. She stood in a busy thoroughfare, a smooth professional amongst the Wranglers crowd, her lines perfectly memorized and injected with sparkle and energy. These things I notice because my advertising job has sensitized me to them. But what I couldn't take my eyes off of was the heavy western belt buckle, slung low on her tiny jeans. The buckle was so heavy that it pooched her jeans out into a faux, um, package. "Your face is all girl, but your jeans tell me otherwise," I thought. Yes, I know I'm catty, but I had had enough of looking at the squeeze chutes. Find your entertainment where you may.

We made it out of there with a bag of salt water taffy, muddy shoes, and no bovines. And my dad ran into only one random guy to talk to, so the day was a huge success. I can't wait for next year.

Dad bought a bull two years ago, and he's gone seriously looking over the years, but he doesn't need one, so NO, no bull.

And a squeeze chute is like a steel cage that immobilizes a large animal so you can perform nasty experiments on it. Kidding -- it's for veterinary or herd-checking operations. It gently squeezes the animal and keeps it from moving and from falling down in the chute while you perform nasty experiments on it. There, aren't you THRILLED to know that?!

I really, I mean, oh my. I have a friend who used to do advertising/design for a 'cow magazine' out of Ft.Worth, and going to the stockyards, well that's an experience. Though, if you've ever been there, or plan on going, find Joe T. Garcia's so that you can have good Mexican food. Thats about the only thing I'd recommend about that part of my experiences there. Once they had a cows being herded through downtown Dallas.. does that happen there too? This is why I live in Virginia now. Yup.

Sounds like a fun day. I love people watching. That's one reason I have so much trouble in church and theatres. I can't stop watching and analyzing the people in the crowd.
Your description of the tv lady is hilarious. I think I've seen her at our mall on a Friday night. :)
And why would a "pooched package" make Snorpht think of me? I think I'm offended.

You lead such an exciting life! Thank you for not using the flash around the bulls. Thank you for the fascinating description of the little ladies package. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep nights!